


Do A Better Job

by SnowSlayer



Category: Samurai Jack (Cartoon)
Genre: Implied Violence, M/M, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-18 08:14:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28614915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnowSlayer/pseuds/SnowSlayer
Summary: A poem looking at Francis' life.
Relationships: franmouche, scaramouche/francis





	Do A Better Job

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to SalaciousShipping and SapphireSins for allowing me to borrow Francis and their Franmouche ideas! You can find more information about Salacious Shipping's artwork here (https://twitter.com/salaciousships?lang=en).

Do A Better Job

“You will get better”

and he calls him a flower,

tends to his minor aches,

holds him until the artificial tears stop.

“You can do better”

he scolds as he flicks away tears

sighing as he placates a dissatisfied customer

and leaves with a quick kiss on the nose.

“Do a better job”

he commands, and scrubs oil away,

the result of too rough a night.

At least there’s dinner for replenishment.

“Do better next time.”

He’s left alone and broken hearted.

It wasn’t even a client.

Punishment is only an hour tonight.

He doesn’t have to be told,

A full refund is the worst offense.

He doesn’t scream when it starts anymore.

His body stops reacting after four hours.

“I’m trying to be better,”

he sobs and begs to no avail.

It was the third unfounded complaint,

but the customer is always right.

“I did my best”

And the blood covered his hands.

He does not bleed though,

at least not crimson red.

“Try to do better next time.”

He’s teased, hurt, used again.

Nothing seemed to change.

He was only built for one thing.

“You have to be better.”

His request for hire as a hunter

became as obsolete as his dreams.

He could only scrape by on his own.

“Do a better job, babe”

as his target was snatched away.

Still, the funds showed up the next day,

a time, place, and date request with it.

“You’ll have to do better than that, babe!”

The bill was out of his fingers,

not even a chance to see the damage

from the best dinner he had ever had.

“That the best you’ve got, babe?”

The old job never required it.

One look and clients took what they wanted.

He did not know how to flirt back.

“You did a good job, babe,”

The voice shook, the hands trembled.

He squeezed the hand in his

with the last of his strength.

“I should have done better.”

The edges of the world faded.

Oil from both halves stained the muddied ground.

The voice faltered, filling the silence with music.

“They could’ve done better, babe,”

he scoffs at the welding scar.

His complaints are silenced with a kiss

so hard they both forgot to take it easy.


End file.
